We have finally had lots of sunshine the past few days crunched between days and nights of high winds, rain and the daylight-saving time change. This is a difficult time to navigate for anyone of any age. We have the combined traumas of Covid, Climate Change, Censorship, Book Banning, Transphobia, Homophobia, Antisemitism, Racism and the insane Far Right.  These traumas trigger previous disturbing memories. 

I recently turned 72 years old.  I still work full time and exercise rigorously almost daily.  Memories of being mistreated by elementary school teachers and in particular, a ninth-grade guidance counselor, have recently re-surfaced.  As I get older, I realize how important it is to instill confidence in children which may be the most important aspect of teaching.  These educators did the opposite. 

There are many outstanding teachers in America.  They are vastly underpaid and underappreciated.  I am a huge supporter of teachers’ unions.  I have family and friends who are great teachers.  My story below focuses on three educators who adversely affected my life.  My hope is that this story connects with others who were also emotionally abused by authority figures when they were children.   

I remember sitting at my desk near the front of my fifth-grade classroom and near the door.  My teacher was going over our writing assignments and she addressed my work saying: “Robert, you are the dumbest child I have ever taught.”  Those words broke any positive spirit I had and reinforced what I already believed about myself.  Some of the other kids laughed at her words while others appeared to be quietly stunned.   

I somehow was passed on to the sixth grade and the sixth-grade teacher failed me in every class.  I remember getting these technicolor report cards of mostly red F’s.  The teacher met with my parents and told them that she gave me failing grades because she couldn’t read my handwriting.  I was in class with her for at least three months and she never mentioned the handwriting issue to me, nor did she propose a plan for me to improve my fine motor, handwriting skills.  I felt like I was beyond help and the teacher was prepared to pass me on to the seventh grade without me being capable of learning anything. I was invisible to her unless someone like my parents reminded my teacher that I was enrolled in her class to learn.  She treated me as if she drew the short straw that led me to being assigned to her class.   

These two events caused me to have continual self-doubt, low self-esteem and feelings of incompetence.  These teachers were telling me that I lacked intelligence and had no chance to make anything of myself.  A poison seed was planted, and no one was there to comfort me.  I lacked the vocabulary to describe how I was feeling. It seemed that my feelings didn’t matter, and I started believing that I didn’t matter as a person.   

I felt like the elephant in the room that no one talked about.  I was to go to school and make believe that I was going to excel.  The treatment I received from these teachers was questioned by my parents.  They talked to the school principals, but nothing changed.  The teachers kept their positions.  There was no apology for their abusive treatment of me.  All went back to normal.  It was like nothing ever happened; like it was just a series of bad dreams. 

My grades continued to be poor for the next few years.  It is difficult to perform well academically if you don’t do any homework.  I believed that I was stupid and that I could hide from that belief by not actually trying in school. What if I really tried and failed?  How would that make me feel?  Probably totally defeated. The not trying/fear of failing if I did, was not a conscious plan.  I realize that now.  I lived my life in survival mode much of the time.  My goal was to get through the day and stay in one piece.   

The early days of ninth grade were highlighted by my parents and me meeting with the high school guidance counselor.  We sat in her office as she looked through my file.  Most of my friends were taking college prep classes and the plan for all of us was to leave Highland Park, NJ and head to college She told us that I did poorly on the SCAT and STEP Tests and therefore should not be enrolled in the college preparatory classes I was taking.  She suggested that I take vocational classes.  I believed every word the guidance counselor was saying, but I continued to take college prep classes and did poorly in them.  I didn’t want to switch to vocational classes because that would have confirmed to the world that I was not intelligent. 

My father had a series of strokes and died when I was fifteen and in the tenth grade.  My mother was grieving and didn’t have the energy to deal with my problems.  My sophomore and junior years of high school are mostly a blur.  I spent most of my time working at Cohen’s Knishes.  The other part of the day smoking cigarettes and playing pinball at the Fourth Avenue Sweet Shop.   

I managed to score a C average during my senior year of high school mainly because I didn’t want to repeat twelfth grade.  My attendance improved slightly during my senior year. One teacher questioned the B I was getting in his class because of my previous failing grades.  He was wondering if he failed to notice my cheating on his tests and homework.  He couldn’t prove that I was cheating (I wasn’t and wouldn’t put forth the effort to do so), so that line of conversation ceased. I still was pushing myself to perform well out of fear that my best effort would result in failure.  I was ok with my average grades and the pressure seemed to lift somewhat. 

The recruiter from Kansas Wesleyan came to our high school to visit me and some other students. He showed me a photo of what he said was a lake in front of the administration building.  (Later I discovered that this “lake” was the result of a flood and was no longer in existence.)  A month later I was accepted and was to leave New Jersey and fly to Salina, Kansas in late August of 1969 shortly after attending The Woodstock Music Festival.  I remember flying over Kansas and wondering where the water was.  All I saw below was flat green and brown splotches of land.  It turned out that Kansas was a totally different world from New Jersey; a totally different world from anywhere else on earth.  

My transition to college was textbook on how not to make the move from high school to college.  I wrote the book on all the things that could go wrong: massive drug abuse, skipping classes, treating the dorm environment and college like it was a big hotel that was open all night; hanging around with others who did not sleep much; and running down my body from not sleeping or eating well.   

My first report card had 4 F’s and one C. The C came from my math teacher who told me that I did well considering I missed most of his classes. 

I met my future wife and her mom in 1969.  My wife, Gail, along with her mother Lavya, provided me with the unconditional love that I desperately needed.  Gail and her mom echoed the message that I was a smart young man and only had to apply myself to succeed and that is what I did. With their support and encouragement, I made the honor roll much of the time after my near collapse and did well in graduate school as well. 

I went on to become a San Francisco Bay Area psychotherapist in private practice for the past thirty-seven years.  My practice is almost always full, and I love my work. I am also a critically acclaimed author of five books.  I have been married to Gail Meadows for almost fifty-one years.  On my good days I feel like the best is yet to come.   

All of this has taught me that my job as a therapist, friend and citizen of the world, is to help others find their inner confidence and if they don’t have it, teach them how to find it.  

Self-love is not just an expression; it is essential for discovering joy and well-being.   

Wishing all of you the best.